


Tell Me, Where Have You Been?

by Carmenlire



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Assassin Alec Lightwood, Assassin Magnus Bane, Assassins & Hitmen, Childhood Friends, Light Angst, M/M, Secret Identity, Spies & Secret Agents, Undercover Missions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-30
Updated: 2018-11-30
Packaged: 2019-09-02 12:36:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16787068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carmenlire/pseuds/Carmenlire
Summary: Ordering a glass of Cab, Alec nods in thanks as the bartender also slides him a napkin. Alec is just setting his glass down on it, set to survey the room for a place to start looking for his target when he sees the writing.Dark hair, burgundy suit. Two o’clock.Alec reads the message scrawled along the bottom of the napkin and carefully turns to the western side of the room. Alec rakes his gaze over broad shoulders and sighs. The hot ones were always corrupt.





	Tell Me, Where Have You Been?

“Remember your mission for tonight. You are--”

“Gideon Carstairs, prodigal heir to over twenty thousand acres of vineyards in Napa. Yeah, I know.” Alec’s voice is relaxed as he faces the mirror in one of the Institute’s prep rooms, a tailor working on last minute alterations to ensure that his suit fits like a dream, screaming unimaginable if understated wealth.

He listens with half an ear as Luke briefs him on a mission that he knows as well as his real name-- or alias for the evening.

“Don’t you get tired of reciting information to me that I already know.” He shoots his cuffs, stepping back when the tailor stands to give himself a careful once over in the mirror before turning to look at his handler.

“I’m the Carstair’s favored son. I graduated from Vanderbilt at the top of my class and double majored in industrial agriculture and French. I can speak four languages but my Russian accent is atrocious. The objective tonight is two fold: take out Hodge Starkweather and cozy up to one Morgan Bran.”

Luke considers him a moment before frowning. “Yeah, and this mission is a little unorthodox in that--”

“We have no visual evidence of him. By all accounts he’s a young, if extremely eccentric, investor looking to throw daddy’s money around. I guess I’ll just have to introduce myself to all the men,” Alec says with a grin.

Sighing, Luke sighs as he claps him on the back. “Play nice, Lightwood. This is just the next step in finally nailing Valentine to the fucking wall and we need our best agent in top form. Now, do you have everything?”

“If you’re asking if I have my tools, then do you even need to?” Alec flashes his lock pick kit and the small vial with one cerulean pill in it before putting both back in their designated place. “Starkweather usually makes his rounds every half hour but he won’t be missed for at least forty five minutes. That gives me plenty of time to slide out of the reception, complete Item A, and get back to the party to make contact with Bran. I’ll flirt a little, plant the bug, and make a date for early next week. All in a day’s work, boss.”

Rolling his eyes, Luke jerks his head through the door. “Go. The GranTurismo is waiting for you in the garage. Remember, Bran is a wild card but we’ve linked him to Valentine on a handful of occasions. They had business together last year and if he’s still alive than they parted amicably. We need him to get to the big fish.”

Alec nods once. He takes the signet ring Luke hands him, placing it on his middle finger before tapping it gently. There’s a few seconds lull before they get confirmation that he’s transmitting. His ear piece is second nature to him by now and with that, Alec’s ready.

It’s just a few minutes later that he’s pulling out of a nondescript garage in lower Manhattan. It’s a thirty minute drive to the estate where this evening’s party is happening and Alec uses that time to mentally flip through the few files that held critical intelligence for this mission.

Valentine was a snake with his hands in every pie. He was holding this reception, inviting only those who pockets were as deep as his own. It was ostensibly a charity auction with a drink and canape reception held immediately before. The Maserati is a pleasure to drive and far better than the car he was given for his last assignment which was the picture definition of _rust bucket_.

Tapping impatiently at the steering wheel, Alec briefly entertains the notion of retiring. He’ll be thirty next month and he’s been thinking that it might just be time to settle down, get a cushy job as a security consultant and rest on his laurels as he rakes in seven figures a year.

It does sound nice.

In the next minute, he breathes out a laugh. He’d be bored within a week if he did that. Alec’s been working for Alicante since he was eighteen-- officially. Off the record, he’d been brought up in the business. At this point, Alec figures that he stays half for family legacy but mostly because it’s all he knows. 

He’s killed more men than most could count and lives in the shadows so often that he’s started wondering when he’ll forget his real name. He’s a civilized assassin and made his peace long ago with the fact that it was in his blood.

Still. Languishing on a farm somewhere in Upstate New York certainly holds its charm.

Alec accelerates through a sharp curve, enjoying the way the car hugs the road, and when he straightens, he sees Valentine Manor in all its glory.

It’s an auspicious home-- if a mausoleum could even be called something that sounded so welcoming and cozy. From blueprints Alec’s studied, there are at least thirty bedrooms with three separate ballrooms and twice as many dining areas.

He pulls up to a stop in front of arched driveway, leaving the door open for the valet.

Into the lion’s den.

Anticipation runs hot and Alec relishes the adrenaline rush that hasn’t gotten old, even after all this time. Truth is, he’s probably halfway insane at this point. There’s no way a civilian would ever feel so comfortable eating with the enemy.

He runs a thumb over his ring in an imperceptible move to turn off its transmittance and walks through security with an easy grin, shoulders relaxed. He widens his stance and lets one of the security move its wand over him, frowning appropriately when it goes off near his jacket.

“I knew I shouldn’t have won this belt here,” he says with a beleaguered sigh. “I was promised by the sales associate at Dolce that it was one hundred percent leather. I paid a goddamn fortune for this.”

Alec raises his voice, just a little, just enough so that the security troll decides not to investigate further lest Alec make a scene and complain to the host.

He walks past with a huff, readjusting his jacket. The room is full and Alec makes his way around the ballroom, taking careful survey of the people and the place.

After he completes a nondescript circuit-- talking to half a dozen guests- he goes to the bar. He orders a scotch neat and keeps discreet track of the time, chatting up two gentlemen in the meantime.

When the quarter hour rolls around, he sees Starkweather leave through one of the pocket doors and excuses himself from his handsome if idiotic companion.

He trails Hodge through winding corridors and out into the garden. It’s too chilly for the guests to be milling around outside and Alec waits until they’re in the maze before he makes his move.

Approaching from behind Starkweather, he doesn’t hear a thing as Alec grabs him, pulling him back against his chest. He drops the pill into his targets mouth and clamps a hand over his face to keep him from spitting it out. Alec slowly suffocates him even as the pill starts to do its work.

It will make Starkweather look like he died of unpredictable if perfectly mundane natural causes. Alec just hopes that they were fast enough to stop the whole case from being blown.

“Good riddance,” he mutters and gently lays him down before standing and straightening his clothes.

Hodge Starkweather had been a double agent and as far as Alec was concerned, his death had been entirely too easy. The bastard had put dozens of people at risk and sacrificed thousands of man hours.

Walking back to the main house, Alec brings a hand up to smooth his hair. “Target one complete,” he murmurs into the ring and makes it back into the ballroom with four minutes to spare.

Starkweather won’t be found for at least thirty minutes and Alec has just enough time to find Barn before making his strategic retreat.

He sidles up to the bar and orders a glass of Cab, nodding in thanks as the bartender also slides him a napkin. Alec is just setting his glass down on it, set to survey the room for a place to start when he sees the writing.

 _Dark hair, burgundy suit. Two o’clock_.

Alec reads the message scrawled along the bottom of the napkin without pausing his wine’s descent, immediately covering the words. He plays with the stem of his glass, looking just preoccupied enough that no one tries to talk to him, before carefully raising his drink to his lips and taking an appreciative sip.

Turning to the western side of the room, Alec sees target two with his back to him, talking to a gentlemen that looks a few years his senior. Alec rakes his gaze over broad shoulders and sighs.

The hot ones were always corrupt.

He turns to go but not before crumpling the napkin and distractedly putting it in his pocket to dispose of later.

He makes his way to the man, the illusive Morgan Barn, thanking the fates when his friend leaves just as he’s set to approach.

“Excuse me,” he starts, voice confident and just a hair too suave for his personal taste. Carstairs does like to act a bit like a pompous ass. “I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced. I’m Gi--”

“Alexander?”

Alec feels everything-- the very earth beneath his feet-- stop as his target turns around and he sees the one person he never thought he’d find here, of all places. His biggest what-if, his persistent lodestar even after all these years.

His best friend who moved away the summer before high school and from whom he never heard from again.

“Magnus,” Alec whispers and tries to ignore the voice screeching in his ear to abort mission. 

He doesn’t get the chance to say another word-- to react-- before the room is plunged into red and alarms start sounding, the doors to the ballroom sweeping shut with finality.

**Author's Note:**

> Catch me on tumblr @carmenlire!


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